


saudade, or how the doctor got her earrings

by silent_h



Series: tumblr prompts [2]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Autistic!Doctor, Gen, POV Second Person, also mentions of the new fam, bc fight me, ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 02:25:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16466912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silent_h/pseuds/silent_h
Summary: i-am-delta-spooky  asked:Imagine the Doctor visiting Donna in their post-Ten forms since that's when they're less likely to trigger her memories... I started thinking about this and I made myself sad





	saudade, or how the doctor got her earrings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iamdeltas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamdeltas/gifts).



> this should probably be longer but Oh Well I Guess

oh, you’re young again, and oh! life is so _fun!_ and _different!_

you laugh and run and dance and sing, and your voice! your hair! your body!

everything looks so _new_ , so _fresh_ , and you don’t think you’ve ever been so in love with _life_ before.

it’s still too loud though, sometimes, and now it’s too _slow_. you have to keep slowing yourself down to make yourself understood. touch is nice except when it isn’t, faces and names _stick_ , which is new, but your words still trip out of your mouth, and other’s words still blur together before they reach your ears.

and you’re clumsier now, too. your centre of gravity hasn’t stopped feeling _wrong_ yet, and your hands and feet don’t always go where you expect them to. no more playing guitar this time round, you think.

‘course, it doesn’t matter right now anyway, since your guitars are in your tardis, and your tardis is _not here._

complaining about losing your ship doesn’t feel like it’d be right to do, not when your new friends(?) have lost so much more (your fault your fault your fault), but all your friends and family are dead or gone or left or missing and now she’s missing too.

your second oldest friend and your longest companion and _you don’t know where she is_.

and you’re off balance without her, too.

you know 21st earth english better than nearly every other language in the universe but it’s harder to follow conversations without her translating and your head feels so empty now without another telepathic presence nearby and you need her to ground your time sense again.

also, all your stuff’s there.

including your clothes.

wonder if you like shopping more this time round?

****

* * *

 

shopping’s different when it’s not being invaded, and when it’s not christmas.

(well. same difference)

less screams, for one, and less lights too.

it’s still loud though and still bright and you’re not holding anyone’s hand because you haven’t figured out yet how to figure out when you like being touched and you think your already meagre amount of spatial awareness has just given up and left this time round and you’re not entirely sure you’ve ever even been to sheffield before and and and—

you’re lost and you’re alone.

(story of your life, eh?)

still. you still have the reformatted phone in one of your pockets (and you never apologised for that, did you? of course you didn’t) and your new sonic in another, and you’re reasonably sure you could reverse (reverse reverse?) engineer it.

its memory’s probably gone and you don’t have any of your new friends’(?) numbers, but hey, it’s a start right?

and phone numbers means records means files means data means you can hack it you can find it you can find them you hope you can find them what if you can’t find them no you have to you don’t know where you are wait yes you do you’re in england ooh england means fish and chips do you still like fish fingers and custard—

ah.

right.

this new brain tends to get distracted easily. should probably remember that.

you shake your head a little, imagine your thoughts sloshing back into place. ha. gross.

wait, no. distracted again.

(why’s it always so hard to _concentrate?_ )

okay then. you’re in a shopping centre, and this place can’t be _that_ big, and you’re pretty sure you haven’t been separated for long, so probably best to just stay where you are.

first place people check is the last place you were, right? you’ve lost enough people to know that.

(lost as in you don’t know where they are not lost as in—)

there’s a bench nearby, just outside a warm smelling shop selling baked potatoes, and you drop yourself into it with all the elegance of...well. all the elegance of a recently regenerated already unsteady time lord.

you grin your best welcoming smile at the other person already sitting there, hoping that your desperation doesn’t push its way into it. the person frowns, and then gets up and walks away.

rude. that was rude, right? you keep your smile, even as your shoulders droop a little.

and then you wait.

 

* * *

****

your feet start tapping, then your fingers, then you start humming tonelessly. how long have you been sitting here? hours? days?

there’s a clock opposite you but it must be broken because it says it’s only been? two minutes? impossible.

(sure, you could find out exactly how long it’s been if you stretch out your time sense but. you don’t wanna. whatever. it’s fine. you’re an adult)

 

* * *

 

six days (five minutes, the lying clock says) later. you shift in place, and the phone in your pocket knocks against the bench.

_ooh. something to do._

 

* * *

 

three weeks (twelve minutes) later and it’s not _fixed_ exactly, but it works. works _better_ , even.

not like it could pick up signals from as far as mars before, after all.

(sure, mars isn’t going to produce anything worth picking up for another century or so, but still)

the problem, however is that you _still_ can’t contact your new friends(?). yaz’s number isn’t on there, which makes sense seeing as how she hadn’t seen ryan in years, but neither’s graham’s, which. also makes sense, in a sad kind of way.

(it’d be wrong of you to try and fix that, right? people have to deal with things in their own time, no matter how much you want to speed up the process. you learned that from— well. doesn’t matter)

 

* * *

 

a year and a half (twenty one minutes) later and okay so, to be fair, you really _did_ try to stay, but you’ve not long regenerated and you’re bouncy at the best of times and you’ve got the feeling that this body’s a really energetic one and yes fine okay you were _bored_.

and all these shops? all these people? how could you _not_ explore this place?

and oh, what a place it is.

you pass six clothes shops but nothing in the windows really stands out to you. a small electronics store makes your fingers start to twitch with the need to pull them apart and put them back together but it’s closed for lunch. by the time you’ve passed three out of order vending machines, one after another, you’ve finally realised what the whole place smells of: disinfectant and burnt pancakes.

gosh, humans are such marvellous creatures.

you walk past a toy shop three times, spinning around at the last moment each time, burning with the _want_ — but no. where would you put anything? your pockets might be empty, sure, but your coat’s old and damaged and the extra dimensions have already started leaking. wouldn’t be any use putting something big in them for them to just collapse a few seconds later under the strain.

although. lego’s small. maybe a few pieces.

no. _no_. move on doctor.

(maybe later)

you have to start holding your breath not long after. perfume shop. you’re sure that the individual scents smell nice but all mixed together? no too much too much too much.

you speed up, near jogging (past a shop just for hats, an almost as pungent candle shop, up an escalator, three different shoe shops in a row) until you can breathe freely again.

and then your breath catches again. in a good way, this time.

it’s a _jewellery_ store, and oh! you think you like shiny things again!

you rock forward so close that your breath fogs up the glass, and then quickly rock back before you touch it.

(everything’s already so loud. you imagine what would happen if the window was alarmed and _you set it off_ , and even the thought of it makes you reach out and tug at your hair)

stones in all colours and bright feathery things and watches and necklaces and bracelets and earrings and—

 _oh_.

you blink, considering, then you flick your ear.

yeah. _yeah_.

you know what you want to get.

 

* * *

 

the shop’s cramped but thankfully not packed with people, and the music playing over the speakers is loud but wordless.

you want to dance but you don’t think there’s enough space. instead you skip, slightly. allow a little bounce into your step, shift your shoulders to the rhythm.

(well. to the rhythm in your head. you doubt you’re anywhere near the song’s actual beat)

everything is so pretty and you think you like that again. your last body tried to dampen the noise with quiet and dark clothes; this body wants to _join_ it.

it wants to laugh and jump and dance and live and live and _live_ —

it’s still as clumsy as ever though.

the collision knocks you off balance and you nearly fall into a shelf; the other person rocks back but stays upright.

 _sorry_ , you say, without thinking.

(you remember your impossible girl now, and the rules she tried to help you relearn. you’re not polite, you think, not ever, but you can still at least try to follow her lessons)

 _sorry_ , you say, and you look up and and and—

no.

 _no no no_.

 _s’alright_ , she (your best friend your other half your beautiful important _brilliant_ donna noble) says, with a half shrug, _i wasn’t looking where i was going anyway._

she’s so vibrant, almost glowing against the dull backdrop of the shop, hair and eyes as bright as ever.

no. _brighter_ than ever. because they're not clouded over with a head full of lives and knowledge and memories that don't belong there, or with the pain and suffering that you introduced her to.

she looks _alive_.

alive and happy and healthy and no—

( _this is so many different kinds of bad_ )

 _sorry_ , you say again, _sorry, sorry, m’just,_ and you almost have to bite your tongue to stop the words.

human, you think, desperately, you’re _human_ , but oh but oh but _oh_.

you hadn’t noticed before, when you were running and tinkering and saving-the-day-ing, but this body _hates_ lying. you’re so much more _honest_ this time round.

(god, you’ve gotten so tired of irony)

even now, her face creases in concern to the emotions that spill out unchecked onto your face, into your eyes. over two thousand (and four billion) years old and you’ve forgotten how to lie, and oh, you can almost hear the universe laughing.

can’t lie and can’t tell the truth and you could ( _should_ ) walk away but you just _can’t_.

it’s the 2010s, you remember. hopefully. you haven’t formally checked the date yet and your time sense is still a little off and god knows you’re never any good at remembering which norms go with which eras but. 2010s.

 _m’just_ , you repeat. _don’t really know me way around these parts_. you wave a hand around, and it only goes slightly further out than you’d wanted it to. _not used to going into women’s shops yet. wan’t a woman before, so_.

 _oh_ , she says, eyes widening.

there’s more you could say, about how gender presentation doesn’t necessarily equal gender identity, about how you’re no more a woman now than you were a man before _anyway_ , but you bite that back too, because you’re not sure that you’d be able to stop once you start.

she nods, once. you only just stop yourself from mirroring the movement.

 _okay_ , she says. _do you want any help picking stuff out?_

oh, your hearts.

(you shouldn’t have expected anything else really, not from her, but you feel a bit more...self-conscious, this time round. or, no, that’s not the right word, is it? but you’re so painfully terrified of being rejected, of being left behind)

you should say no. _you should say no_.

(you’re new and you’re young and you’ve already ruined a family and you can’t keep running in and out of people’s lives as if you don’t leave destruction in your wake)

instead you grin, rock forward and back on your feet a few times until your chest stops fizzing with guilty happiness.

 _yeah_ , you say. _yeah, please._

(you’re new and you’re young and you’re still so goddamn selfish)

she grins, and you grin back automatically. can’t help it. your happiness has always had a direct correlation to hers.

_do you know what you’re looking for?_

_earrings_ , you say, immediately. _shiny ones. good ones._

she blinks. frowns. looks at your ears.

is something wrong with them? you’re pretty sure you’ve had worse. maybe it’s a pattern: the more northern you get, the worse your ears look.

you reach up, pull on them.

they seem fine? smallish shape, squishy, soft—

_oh!_

_no holes!_

you _knew_ you were forgetting something.

fine, whatever. you fought off an alien you’ve never encountered before and made a sonic out of spoons and hope; s’not like it’d be rocket science to poke holes in your ear.

(ears? no. _ear._ not sure why, but you know it’s gotta be _one_ )

and if you do it soon enough you might still have enough leftover regeneration energy to heal them up enough that you don’t have to worry about keeping the earrings in for the next six(?) months. though you probably will anyway.

 _or..._ you could change them every day. different colour for every day of the week. ‘course, you can get way more than seven if you use a different planet’s way of measuring time. maybe you could get earrings in colours outside the human visible spectrum! you knew a lovely chap from new x6 earth who used to wear a pair in the most outlandish shade of ultraviolet. used to give you a bit of a headache sometimes, though.

there’s a cough. not yours, though. you blink a few times, reorient yourself.

donna’s watching you, eyebrow raised.

(how long has it been since she’s looked at you like that?)

whoops. must’ve spent too long without talking again.

you rewind the conversation back a bit.

 _oh yeah_ , you say. _i’ll get ‘em pierced later. sorry. easily distracted, me. irritatin’, right?_

you grin, to show how much it absolutely does not bother you.

(and why would it? so what if you had a couple of centuries where your thoughts finally seemed a little slower, where you had more control over your mouth than you have maybe ever? doesn’t mean you’re allowed to start moping over past lives)

she doesn’t grin back.

her face softens even as her eyes sharpen with...anger? righteousness? something that makes you feel almost protected.

she says: _you say sorry too much_ and you have to bite your tongue.

(i’m sorry. i’m so sorry)

you bite it too quickly, or maybe not quickly enough; she frowns again.

 _hey, so um,_ she takes a breath, _have we met before? you don’t_ look _familiar but did we meet before...um._ she flushes. _before...sorry, is it rude to ask that?_

 _you say sorry too much_ , you repeat, instantly, and she snorts.

_i only said it once, you numpty._

normal people probably don’t _beam_ at being insulted, but you can’t hold back your smile any more than you’d be able to hold a tidal wave.

 _that’s too many times_ , you say cheerfully. and then, carefully, _i’ve never met you before. not since i’ve looked like this. and not when my face looked different before this one, neither._

that’s not technically a lie, right?

 _you must remind me of someone else then._ she frowns, and you hold your breath, and then it’s lost, her face smoothing out again. _whatever,_ she says, _can’t be that important if i can’t remember them, right?_

( _doesn’thurtdoesn’thurtdoesn’thurt_ )

 _can’t be,_ you echo.

she doesn’t seem to notice the odd tone in your voice, or maybe she does and ignores it to be kind.

either way, it stings more than it should be allowed to. you don’t deserve any ounce of kindness from donna noble.

(but then, you never have been any good at taking only what you deserve)

 _so,_ she says, _total stranger, apart from ‘shiny’ and ‘good’, what kind of earrings do you want? what do you like?_

what do you _like?_ how in the universe could you put what you like into small earth english words?

 _stars,_ you try, _family, bananas—or at least i used to, not sure about now—, big red buttons, friends—the people, not the tv show, though mar...though a friend of mine got me to watch the show and it was alright i guess—, the beatles—the band but also the insect? nowt wrong wi’ a good beetle, as i always say. although. hm. don’t think i’ve ever said that? why have i never said that? it’s a perfectly good sentence?_

 _stars,_ donna says, quickly. _let’s look for stars._

 

* * *

 

this was maybe a bad idea.

(as if you’re only noticing that _now_ )

there’s too many different earrings for you to focus on any one, and your head’s starting to hurt a little.

(and every time you see one you think _could_ be it, you turn to ask donna if it would suit you. but how would she know? she doesn’t know you)

you go to pick up a pair with big purple stones on and almost say, _just like that necklace, with agatha and the wasp, remember?_

and then you remember that no. she doesn’t.

and, also, you keep finding yourself drawn to the elegant ones. the ones with the biggest price tags. the type of earrings a person would pair with a martini and a sharp smile.

(you are trying so very hard not to think about the last person you bought jewellery for. another person you failed. another person whose life you ruined)

 _hey stranger,_ donna says, suddenly, saving you like she always has, _stars._

oh. she’s pointing at a little cluster of silver stars, small and shiny and cold and _perfect_.

(she’s been good at that, hasn’t she? always been good at knowing what’s best for you)

 _i mean,_ she says, after a few moments have passed and you still haven't spoken, _bit pricey but—_

 _they’re perfect,_ you say, firmly. you pick them up and hold them tightly to your chest. _thank you—_

you only just manage to not say her name.

(because why would you know it? you’re strangers, remember?)

of course, with this body, the feeling has to get out _somehow_ ; you hold the little cardboard packet out in front of you, considering the two earrings, and then flick them both, one after another.

left or right? left? sure. why not.

you edge your fingernail underneath the left earring, start to pull it from the cardboard, and donna makes a quick loud noise.

_don’t do that._

you blink. _but i only want one?_

she blinks back, and then she laughs.

you’re not pouting but. well. maybe you’re pouting a little.

 _sorry,_ she shrugs, still sounding amused. _you have to take both. it’s like how some shops only sell avocados in pairs, even though you only want to eat one, you know?_

you're not sure you’ve ever wanted to eat even _one_ avocado, and you’re pretty sure this whole thing makes _no_ sense but. fine. okay. you tilt your head in agreement.

there’s not many people left in the universe who you can lose an argument against, but one of them is standing right in front of you, still grinning.

maybe you could swap them every so often so you can clean them?

 _kay,_ you mumble.

she huffs, but in an amused way. _register’s this way,_ she says, already starting to move in that direction.

(as blunt as ever, your donna)

you rub your thumb over a star, feeling the cold smooth sharp metal against your skin. it warms a little, and you grin.

human beings looked at the unfeeling sky so far above them, at the fiery balls of gas whose lives far outstrips their own, and, knowing they wouldn’t be able to reach them, they took their image and fashioned them into the little fragile pieces of metal in your palm.

 _humans_ , you think, fondly.

you curl your hand back over the earrings, body turning around, and then stop suddenly, eyes wide.

you hadn’t seen them before, tucked away at the back: two little hands clasped together, one silver, one gold. an unbreakable bond.

 _family,_ you think. _friends._

(you’ll need to find something to connect them later. you’ll have to. you can’t divorce the idea of the stars who pulled you to them, all those centuries ago, and the family they gave you on the way)

you reach out and take those too, and then you make your way towards donna.

 

* * *

 

 _um,_ you say.

(how many times have you complained about empty pockets? how could you have _forgot?_ )

england doesn’t do the barter system round here anymore, does it? still, you stick a hand in your pocket, to see if you’ve got anything to trade. all that comes out is ryan’s phone though, and you’re not trading that over.

the woman behind the counter makes an understanding noise: _you’re paying by contactless?_

you are?

she looks expectantly at a small black object on the counter so you press the phone to it. it beeps, and you laugh, delightedly.

oh, you love humans.

the woman looks surprised, and then quietly laughs back. and, behind you, donna laughs too.

you take the phone back and—

oh.

whoops.

not _the_ phone, _ryan’s_ phone. probably definitely ryan’s bank account, too.

(sorry ryan. you’ll pay him back, eventually. probably)

the woman puts your earrings in a little paper bag, which looks perfectly smooth and flat in her hands, and already has creases in it not half a second after she passes it to you.

it’s a little shiny and it makes crinkling noises under your fingers and it has the little weight of your(!) new earrings right at the bottom.

this might not be the _happiest_ you’ve been in this new body, but it’s pretty damn close.

 _thank you,_ you sing, to the woman, and then you spinning round to face donna, and repeat it.

 _i mean,_ she says, with a half shrug, _i didn’t really do anything._

you stare at her. and keep staring at her.

she raises an eyebrow, and then fully shrugs, turning around to start walking towards the exit.

you follow quickly, speed up and turn until you’re in front of her, walking backwards.

 _didn’t do anything?_ you click your tongue, and then again, when you realise how much you like the sound. _you did_ everything. _you’re a lifesaver._

she smiles a little awkwardly, as if she wants to refuse the praise again, but she doesn’t. and oh, you know you have no right to be, but you are oh so very proud.

 _you’re gonna trip again,_ she says, instead.

you do, obviously, but you catch yourself again, hand splaying out against a wall as you regain your bearings.

this body still seems too unwieldy, too different, too _new,_ but maybe it’s not too bad so long as you can catch yourself, right?

she laughs, and so do you, and oh, yes. maybe it’s not too bad at all.

 _so,_ she says, when you’re outside the shop, _you gonna keep shopping?_

 _not sure? i were with some people before but…_ you shrug. _we were walking together one second then i couldn’t see them the next. they‘ll probably turn up though._

people always do. maybe not when you expect, or _how_ you expect, but they always do.

she looks at you for a moment, eyes flicking up and down you, before she rolls her eyes. _let me guess: you wandered off?_

not _technically._ but. well. yeah. kind of. a little.

you grin, sheepishly.

she rolls her eyes again, and yeah, maybe you’re still not great with emotions yet but there’s no world in which you don’t recognise a donna noble fondly exasperated eye roll.

 _stay safe stranger,_ she says. she starts to turn and then she stops midway. _i don’t know why,_ she says, half facing away, _but i really liked meeting you._

oh. _oh._

you rock back and forward again, just a little, the same happiness fizzing up inside. it feels a little less guilty this time though.

 _yeah,_ you say, softly, _i really liked meeting you too._


End file.
